Illerotica
by JGull
Summary: She's a cute and talented socially awkward freshman, studying the arts at the University. He's a modern day renaissance man on a mission to set the world on fire one orgasm at a time. See what happens when their worlds collide.
1. Chapter 1

**ILLEROTICA**

By: JGull

Settling into my seat and fidgeting nervously, I watch as the room begins to fill with girls. One after another they pour in through the double doors and sit around the platform in the center of the room. It's not the fact that the majority of the class are females that piques my attention, though this is odd since art classes generally attract more guys, it's the type of girls who are swarming in. Could this many sorority girls really be interested in drawing?

Glancing around the room, I look up at the dome ceiling and the skylight windows overhead. Snow is gathering on the lower half of the large curved windows. I've never seen a space quite like this. The platform stage in the center of the room is surrounded by a slightly lower half-circle pit for the artists to occupy. On the other side of the stage, opposite where I'm sitting, are large curtains leading to a private dressing room and behind me there are numerous lockers and a door leading to the instructor's office.

Noticing a nearby gaggle of giggling girls whispering to each other I pause my mp3 player and lean over nonchalantly to eavesdrop on their conversation. I know this isn't polite, but there's an odd vibe in the room. There seems to be a strange sexual charge in all of these girls and I want to know why.

"Are you sure this is the class?" says one of the girls.

"Yes, I'm telling you, I took it last semester and failed on purpose so I could take it again."

They all giggle again amongst each other and then resume their exchange as I pretend to be rummaging through my backpack for something.

"How do you know he's coming back this semester?"

"Victoria works in the office. She told me they're doing it again this semester. Him and Jake both."

"Oh my God! I can't believe they're both gonna be modeling for us."

Are you serious? This is what all of these girls signed up to see, a couple guys? Why is it that everything girls do has to revolve around men? So maybe they're good looking, so what? This course is supposed to be about learning to draw the human body, not going all weak in the knees over the models. There could be serious artists who wanted to take this class but couldn't because all these stupid girls took their seats before they could sign up. I almost didn't get in when I tried to sign up because of these posers.

"Ms. Swan?"

Turning to my right, glancing over my shoulder, I see the instructor, Mrs. Bernanke, looking down at me. She's a young woman, early to mid thirties, and has the look of a hippy librarian.

"Oh, yeah, Bella. Mrs. Bernanke?" I say.

"I was on the committee that reviewed your portfolio submission for acceptance. You've done some extraordinary work already. I did notice, however, that none of your subjects were human. Is there a reason for this?"

"Well, I um, I'm kinda shy and don't do well with people so I always draw things that aren't moving." I say.

"Things that don't move, or things that don't look back at you?" she asks.

I feel my face begin to burn and break eye contact, momentarily, looking down at the floor. Without warning Mrs. Bernanke takes me lightly by the chin and lifts my head, kindly coercing eye contact.

"You have an extraordinary talent, Ms. Swan. Don't waste it being insecure."

All I can manage is a meek "Okay" and watch as she crosses the room. Sure, be confident, Bella! Easier said than done. I'm 19 years old, have never even held a guy's hand and act like a spaz whenever I try to talk to people. I'm clumsy and extremely nerdy. I stammer when I talk and snort when I laugh. How could I possibly not be insecure? I'm not ugly, and I work out every morning by swimming and cycling, but I just look bleh. Very . . . homely. Nobody ever showed me how to use makeup or do my hair, so I just keep it tied back, and the idea of touching my eyeball completely creeps me out so I wear glasses. My wardrobe consists of sweatpants and t-shirts and I read romance novels. Romance novels, for god's sake! I'm going to be the female Steve Carell, I know it. Die a virgin like Mother Teresa, only without the following. And worst of all, I'm the biggest pervert alive. I think about sex all the time and I'm terrified that if I look people in the eyes long enough they'll be able to see all the dirty little thoughts I'm thinking.

"This is life drawing," says Mrs. Benanke. " Your syllabus is online and if there's something you want to know about the class, download and read it. You're in college now, I'm not going to read to you or translate it for you. Like the real world my deadlines are non-negotiable, so if possible turn assignments in early. If you come to me and tell me your grandmother has died or your car caught on fire and your portfolio burned in it, it will not matter one bit. Part of life is death and disasters. The world doesn't stop for us to adjust to it, we either adapt or perish. I may look the part of a hippy, but make no mistake, in my class I am Hitler and you all serve 'ze _Führer'_."

The guys in the class laugh out loud and I hear one of the girls to my right whisper to the others.

"What a bitch!"

"If you want an A, you're gonna have to earn it."

I'm in awe of this woman. She's so strong and confident. Must be nice.

"In this course you will be drawing live nude models."

Wait, did she say nude? I open my folder and fumble through the syllabus. It doesn't say anything about nude. Oh my God, I can't do this.

"The models will be both male and female and as we go along they will pose in very provocative positions. If you are uncomfortable with that don't return on Wednesday, you can still drop. I expect. No scratch that, I demand! I demand that each and every one of you behave in a professional, mature, and adult manner. If you wish to remain in this course you will respect the models. If you disrespect the models, me, or your classmates by giggling (as she says this she glances toward the girls to my right who all freeze in place), talking, or making inappropriate comments you will be removed from this class and prevented from taking any further courses in the art department. I am the chair of this department. Believe me, I can and will make it happen. I've done it in the past. Today I'll be introducing the models, they'll speak to all of you about why they chose to pose for us, and we'll cut class short today and meet again on Wednesday."

I feel my palms begin to sweat and my mind wanders as I imagine the various positions these models will be in. What do they look like? Will I be able to draw them? What if I can't focus. Oh my God, I'm going to have a stroke. While my mind races through a thousand pornographic poses per second and I daze off at the mannequins in the corner, Mrs. Bernanke continues.

"This is Nichole, Terri, Michelle, Jakob, and Edward."

I look up and immediately make eye contact with the most beautiful man I've ever seen and time stops. I feel my whole body twitch and tingle as his emerald eyes lock onto mine and penetrate my every thought. Everything fades away and I find myself staring dumbstruck at him, completely oblivious to the other 4 models in front of me. When I notice the corners of his lips turn slightly up, reality returns and slaps me upside the head. I must look like such a fool! Damn it! My mouth is literally wide open and my breath is quivering. To say this man is gorgeous would be an understatement. There are no words for him. Myths were written about guys like this. Religions were created for people to worship them in the ancient world.

Forcing myself to break eye contact the rest of the room returns from soft focus and I struggle to get the image his eyes have burned into my mind out of my head as I glance at the other models. They are all very attractive in different ways. Jakob is probably about 6'4, tanned with dark eyes, and around 230lbs, all muscle. His hair is long and black and he keeps it in braids like an American Indian, hanging over each side of his chest. Actually, maybe he is Native American. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, dark eyebrows. Definitely Native American. I wonder what tribe he's from?

I've had a fascination with Native Americans since I was a little child. The only memory I have of my mother is when we traveled across the country and stopped at a Reservation Trading Post. My mother bought me a dream catcher which hangs over my bed to this day. Little did I know we took the trip because she was dying from cancer and wanted to see the country before she passed. After her funeral my father climbed into a bottle and hasn't come out since. That's why I went to live with my grandmother at seven years old, but Nana has always been there for me.

Other than his Oakland A's Jersey, baggy Hip Hop Jeans, and hiking boots Jakob is a very clean cut guy, almost jockish. He is the polar opposite of Edward in appearance, who is a couple inches shorter than Jakob, maybe 6'2, and much thinner. If I had to guess I'd say he's around 190lbs, but very toned. He looks the way Rudolph Valentino would have looked if his hair were long and bleached bone white, dressing in a very sophisticated way and carrying himself in an almost regal manner while simultaneously coming off as curiously rebellious and street. On his head he wears a scull cap, allowing his hair to dangle behind him. His black dress shirt, slacks, and pointed-tipped dress shoes contrast his white fingernail polish, which stands out because he's wearing black fingerless cotton gloves. Over his bright green eyes are Jet-black Jack Nicholson-esque brows, and while his upper lip is thin, and sharp, his lower lip is puffy, pink, perennially wet, and utterly delicious looking. I momentarily imagine his mouth on my nipple, shudder, lick my own lips while rubbing my eyes, and then force myself to pull focus. On his chin he sports a matching bone white billy-goat goatee and on each side of his face his cheeks dip in, causing his entire mouth area to slightly protrude. I could sketch this man from memory already.

The three female models are all very pretty in a punk rocker meets Hip Hop model sense. What strikes me most about them is how similar they are in confidence, yet how different they look in style. Somehow they contrast one another well enough that it works. One is Asian, the second Slavic, and the third African American. Mrs. Bernanke is talking again and I try to concentrate on what she's saying, despite the fact that I can feel Edward watching me with that smirk on his face. Why is he smiling at me? Did he notice how I was staring at him? God, he probably thinks I'm such a dork and will tell all his friends about the stupid chick with glasses on the far side of class who stared at him with her mouth wide open like an idiot.

"As many of you already know all of our models this year are from the local band _Illerotica_. Edward is going to explain why they're modeling for us this year."

Great, now he's gonna talk to us. Should I risk looking at him again? I look around the room and realize that everybody else is. If I don't look at him it'll be even more obvious. I glance up and make eye contact as he begins talking, but he's looking around the room and no longer concerned with me. Just look at his forehead, like the teacher said in speech class earlier, he won't be able to tell.

"Like B here was saying we're all members of the Erotica-Hip Rock band, _Illerotica_. Erotica-Hip Rock is a genre of music we're inventing that is fueled by our own sexuality. We promote mutually open safe sex, and gender equality. We've combined Hip Hop and Rock and our lyrics are all about turning you on and getting you off."

Wow, his voice is so deep and smooth. He talks with a rhythmic cadence that sends a fuzzy sensation down the back of my head along my spine.

"I'm the lead singer, rapper and guitarist, Jakob plays drums, Nichole is on Bass and backs me up, Terri plays the Piano, and Michelle. Well, Michelle is our hype woman."

All of the band members laugh along with half the room who are apparently in on this inside joke that I know nothing about. Once again I'm on the outside looking in. Surprise surprise.

"We've volunteered to pose for this class to promote the nude arts. Nudity is natural, clothing isn't. Our society has become so perverse and inverted that we criticize what's natural and accept as normal what is unnatural. We are not our clothes and our bodies are not obscene. The vast majority of people want to live sexually open lives. They yearn for the freedom to walk outside in their yard naked without worrying whether or not their neighbors will have a heart attack. They want to fuck strangers and enjoy getting off with each other. But, they don't because society suppresses these urges in them and has created a culture of shame so that those suppressed urges can be used to make money. Until we are sexually liberated as a society freedom is nothing more than capitalized entertainment. Nudity and sexuality are condemned and then used for profit to sell everything from razors to jeans. Our goal is to educate people of the reality that there is nothing shameful about our bodies . . ."

Why is he pausing and looking at me?

". . . or our sexual urges. _We_ are natural, _they_ are not."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Lying flat on my back in the snow, staring up at the crisp blue sky I hear a voice.

"You alright?"

Unable to answer, I roll over onto my side and gasp for breath. I should have known better than to walk so fast in this weather. I'm clumsy enough on dry ground. Stupid ice, I hate winter! On my hands and knees I choke out a cough and hear chuckling behind me. Is somebody laughing at me? Glancing back over my shoulder I see Edward, cigarette in hand, smiling from ear to ear.

"Are you okay?"

_I am now. Wait! No, I'm not! Did he just see me fall on my ass? Oh God, this is horrible. _

Climbing to my feet I brush the snow off, with my head down and eyes locked on the ground, and try to walk past him. This is so embarrassing.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks."

"You're in this class, aren't you? I seen you on Monday, two days ago." he says, walking beside me across the oval toward the art department.

_No! I was hoping he wouldn't recognize me. _

He's still laughing at me. What an asshole.

"Why are you laughing at me?" I demand, turning toward him furious.

The only time I've ever been able to speak with confidence is when I'm angry. Once I lose my tempter all of my insecurities go out the window and I feel like some sort of fire breathing dragon. This usually happens when I get flustered and my thoughts pile up on one another like a traffic jam in downtown Los Angeles during a heat wave. It doesn't help that I've barely slept since that class two evenings ago and I've got to figure out before tomorrow what I'm going to do for my documentary project in Journalism III.

"What kind of an asshole laughs at a girl who damn near broke her neck?" I ask, waiting impatiently for an answer.

His smile fades into a smirk as he cocks his head slightly to the side, reminding me of Jojo (my dog) who does the same thing whenever I react in a surprising way. The look always makes me melt with Jojo, but with him it's different. It's like he's patronizing me with it. Why do I feel like he's looking in my head, studying me like some sort of scientist's specimen?

"There she is," he says.

My confidence begins to dissipate, but I can't look away. His eyes are so magnetic.

"What?" I ask, still aggrevated but not as aggressive.

"I knew you had it in you. You remind me of me, only . . ."

He's glancing down at my body now.

". . . not." He finishes.

I turn and walk away, but he continues in step beside me.

"Sorry I laughed at you," he says while taking a drag off of his cigarette. "It just looked funny. Seeing people fall is always funny. Everybody's rushing through life trying so hard to remain in control and then BAM!"

I jump as his voice raises 20 levels like an explosion beside me and freezes me in place.

"Life reminds them that they're not in control. You see?" he says. "Now you are real. No thinking, no pretending, no insecurities. Just you and me, standing here in the snow."

Foolishly I give him a dirty look and start insulting him before I even know what's coming out of my mouth.

"You are the weirdest, most arrogant guy I've ever met. You look like a freak and act like a young Marlon Brando, only you're not as good looking as he was! Why would anybody dye their hair white and put those dumbass studs beside their mouth and through the bridge of their nose? Are you trying to be different? Unique? What's wrong, trying to hide the fact that deep down inside you're like everybody else and there's nothing special about you? That without your _GIMMICK_ you're just a normal dork like me?"

I try to continue but he reaches out and softly brushes snow off of my cheek, catching me completely off guard. His hand is so warm and electric on my skin. I can smell his scent on his wrist and turn my head instinctively toward it.

"Try harder, Bella, I don't believe you."

Before I can react he turns and walks into the building, flicking his cigarette off to the right in the coolest most casual way, leaving me alone under the trees wondering how he knows my name.

After making my way into the building and situating myself at my stool I listen with the rest of the class to Ms. Bernanke.

"Today Edward is going to pose for us. What I would like for each of you to do is choose an area of his body that stands out most to you and really just focus on that area. Draw it in as much detail as possible. I'd like to see depth to the image, as well, not just a flat 1-Dimensional sketch. Use shading techniques to really make that area of the body pop. Because he's in excellent shape the muscles will be clearly defined and easily observed so I'd like you to include them as well. At the end of class leave your work on the table in the back of the room and we'll meet again on Friday. This is really just to see where each of you is as an artist since many of you aren't art majors. As you know you'll be graded on your progress over the course of this class, so give me the best that you have at this time. I promise you will get better if you're here to learn so don't worry if you're not Da Vinci."

While she speaks Edward stands off to her left, leaning against the wall with his robe on, listening to music in his earphones. He isn't wearing his skull cap and I can see that his hair is tied up in a braid behind his back and shaved everywhere but in the back where the braid is hanging. It makes me think of Jet Li in _Fearless_. I'm a Kung Fu nutt and have always wanted to have that hairstyle myself. Of course I'd never do it. Would look totally ridiculous on me, but it actually looks nice on him with his features. Weird with it being dyed white, but different. He's right, I don't think he's a freak . . . at least not in a bad way. Is there such a thing as a good freak? Why does he look sad? I wonder what he's listening to.

Reaching into my bag I take out my mp3 player. Still angry from earlier I'm not as nervous about drawing him nude as I was. I don't like the idea that he thinks he has control over me. Nobody, especially no man, has ever been able to control me the way he has. Skipping through my songs I find my Bob Dylan folder and play "Tangled Up In Blue". When I look up he's removing his robe and I find myself once again staring at him in awe.

Every muscle on his body from his shoulders to his calves looks as though it were chiseled on his body by Michelangelo himself and he moves like a wild lion, confident and sexy in a ferocious feline type way. His entire body is completely shaved, including his arm pits and nether regions. Speaking of nether regions . . . WOW! Surprisingly he's uncircumcised. I'd never expected that, just sort of assumed he would be circumcised like all of the videos and photos I've seen online. But, if there is a God out there beyond the sky it must be a woman and she must have really taken her time with this man. How is it possible for him to hang like this? In all the porno I've seen never has one been so beautiful. It looks so soft and the foreskin covers almost the entire head, leaving the very tip poking out like a scared turtle. Wonder if he's a snapper? Hehe I instantly imagine myself holding it in my hand and rubbing it gently on my cheek and lips, pulling the foreskin back and forth over the head and off of it until he's erect and then sucking on the moist uncovered cap. Oh God, I can't draw this . . . I'll never get anywhere. When I glance up at his eyes, he's staring right at me. Or through me? He still looks sad. Why?

Suddenly I forget the rest of him and just stare back into his eyes. This time, however, I feel as though I'm looking into him, almost as though he can't even see me. Instead of the cocky arrogant rocker I see a little boy, lonely and sad. Grabbing my pencils I begin sketching him as he sits there on that stool staring past me. First I draw his eyes. When I finish them I realize it's the best drawing I've ever done. Even the drawing of him is hypnotic. I begin furiously sketching out his nose, ears, lips, and the rest of his face. As I slip away into that place where I go when I become the act of drawing the world fades around me into a soft-focus void. It's just me, the music, and his eyes and I feel myself disappearing into them as I draw. I can feel him inside of my head, nuzzling my neck with his lips and whispering into my ear, "I want you." Soon, even the music fades and it's just me drifting in an infinite emerald sea, glittering under the lights.

When I finally come to Edward is gone and everybody is filing out of the class.

"What happened?" I mumble to myself, glancing down at my finished sketch.

Gathering up my things I head to the back of the class and put my drawing down after taking another long look at it. When I turn around Edward is coming out from behind the curtain, fully clothed and taking a cigarette out of his pack.

"Mind if I see it?" he asks.

"Um, yeah, sure. I mean, if you want to."

Turning around I grab it and look again, fidgeting with my hair and worrying that he'll know what I'm thinking by looking at it. I see Ms. Bernanke through her office window, on her computer.

When I hand it to him he's looking at me, only this time much more gently. He seems so vulnerable now, why? After staring at the drawing for several excruciating minutes of silence he finally speaks.

"Wow."

When he looks up his eyes are wet and he rubs them roughly and turns to walk away. Is he beginning to cry?

I glance down at the drawing and notice two wet spots on the paper.

"Are you busy?" he asks from the door.

Oh my God, is he going to ask me to go somewhere with him? I'm freakin out inside. Since I met this guy I've been on a constant roller coaster of emotions. I need time to clear my head and figure out what's going on. What do I say?

"I uh, I . . ."

"You like Chinese? There's a really good buffet a few miles from here. I can drive and then we can go hang out at my place and watch a movie, if you'd like." He says.

"Um, yeah, I like Chinese."

Crossing back toward me he takes my coat from my hands and holds it open for me. I slip into it quietly, looking at him when he's done, and he begins to zip up the front for me. Taking off his skull cap he pulls it over my hair.

"How did you know my name?" I ask.

"I asked B after the first class."

"Why?"

"Honestly?"

"Yeah, and why'd you smirk at me that first day?"

"You remind me of me when I was younger," he says. "And because I find you curious."

"Curious?"

He smiles again and looks away, then back at me, slightly shy and open.

"Yeah. Ready?"


End file.
